


An Old Flame

by reset-after-reset (relvius)



Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: M/M, No Genitals, Self-Harm, sad unsatisfying sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-11
Updated: 2015-11-11
Packaged: 2018-05-01 01:33:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 562
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5187143
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/relvius/pseuds/reset-after-reset
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sans and Grillby fuck, but that’s never really what Sans wants.</p>
            </blockquote>





	An Old Flame

Sans was bent over a table at Grillby’s, shorts around his ankles as his hips filled with fire. His arms sprawled out in front of him, occasionally grasping at the edges of the table to let him push back against Grillby’s thrusting. The thought that they should be tied down crossed his mind, but this wasn’t the kind of sex with that level of communication. It was just a way to blow off steam (or smoke) – short flings after the bar closed, when Grillby was up for it and Sans knew he’d have a hard time getting to sleep that night.

Grillby burned inside of him, flames licking into every crevice in his pelvis. However, it was the cool air that flooded into him with every thrust that made Sans shudder. Then it was hot again, too hot, approaching painful, but that was just part of the experience. Sans tried not to think about it, but sometimes the pain was the most appealing part. The gray singes inevitably left across his lower half were much easier to hide than grooves cut into his limbs. This, at least, could masquerade as something almost healthy.

He still wasn’t entirely sure what Grillby got out of it. It must have felt good for him too in some way, although Sans certainly couldn’t understand what sex felt like to a humanoid mass of fire.

A stray flame danced up the base of Sans’ spine. He grunted and pushed back against Grillby, willing the fire deeper. Maybe his shirt would ignite – that would be quite the experience, wouldn’t it? At the very least, it was sensation tickling at the base of his ribcage. And when the flame withdrew, that soothing cool flowed through him like a pitch black tentacle weaving through his chest.

That wasn’t an image Sans had wanted in his head. He didn’t want to think about creeping tendrils delicately brushing against all the right places. Hands pressing down on him while he squirmed and begged and moaned. Laughter at the worst, most convoluted jokes about quantum mechanics. Someone he just wanted to hold safe and stable and normal, back how it (never) was.

No, no, that wasn’t what he was thinking about, not now. He covered his face with a hand, partly to ground himself and partly to hide his expression – he couldn’t be entirely sure he wasn’t crying. Grillby was moving quicker now and every inch of Sans’ pelvis burned (literally and not literally) with sensation. Impatiently, Sans pushed back at an even greater speed; he wanted the tightness in his chest gone, the dark in the back of his mind gone, the constant hopelessness gone gone gone.

At least for a few moments, his mind stopped and he went over the edge, gasping, “gast–” before biting down hard on his voice. Shortly after, a plume of flame roared through Sans, signifying Grillby’s end as well – Sans flinched. Too quickly, the heat was gone as Grillby stepped back and readjusted his clothes. Sans did the same, hating how no matter how many times he did this (within timelines, between timelines), he was never quite sure of what to say. He decided on, “thanks, man,” with a short, “g’night.” Grillby wished the same to him.

As Sans left the grill, he shivered, and not only because of the freezing Snowdin air rushing into him. 


End file.
